Underneath we’re all the same, perfectly imperfect, doing what we can, making our way through life, searching for a warm blanket and a tender hand to hold.

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What if we actually lived, instead of pretending to live until realizing as we die that we’ve been so afraid of change that we haven’t really lived at all?

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A chapter from my book on how I learned to understand “the paint can” – the many inputs that go into forming what we believe to be real about ourselves, love and life.

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